


To Make Do And Mend

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post "Chosen", Post Season 07, Post Series, Post Sunnydale, Romance, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rome, post-Sunnydale: Buffy receives an unsettling phone call concerning Giles. She gets on the next flight to London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is planned as a multi-chapter fic, I'll try to make the gaps between updates as short as possible.  
> I own only my own ideas.

"Pronto."  
"Am I speaking with Miss Elizabeth Summers?"  
It's been a long time since anyone has called her on the landline, speaking English (let alone using the first name she's chosen to be referred to as since their arrival in Italy). With the others scattered all over the world, they usually use a relatively new program, it's called Skype (Dawn always says it reminds her of someone's name).  
"... Yes, that's me."  
The voice - a very warm and apparently caring voice - tells her a small story, obviously trying to stay particularly calm. It compensates for the amount of times the news makes her tear up while listening. She calls Willow next, forgetting that she usually deems using the landline for calls to another country too expensive, repeating the story almost word for word, and making her friend promise not to tell anyone.  
The next thing she realizes she's doing consciously is packing a large suitcase, after telling Dawn, who, after initial tears, hugs her for unusually long minutes. What almost comforts her more is to know that she doesn't have to worry about her sister, her "little" sister who is working for the Museo Vaticano, having gotten her degree in art history only last year. 

Dawn drives her to the airport.  
"I don't know how long I'll be away, Dawnie."  
"I know. Stay as long as you need to. Just make sure to call."  
Dawn, concentrating on Roman traffic, can't look to her right, but she knows her sister is nodding. It's strange how things have changed, she thinks, pushing her glasses upwards a little.  
"And hug him from me, yeah?"  
Again the nodding that she knows is happening. At the next traffic lights, she briefly takes Buffy's hand. "Hey. Cheer up, it's going to be okay." Her sister gives a weak smile, then Dawn has to change gears.

Slamming the tailgate shut, she says, her voice very strict, "Be safe." Buffy nods again, and this time, Dawn sees it. They hug, and before they disentangle Buffy's handbag, the suitcase handle, Dawn's coat, and their arms, Dawn repeats, "It's going to be okay. Hey, we've defeated every apocalypse so far. This isn't different. Except no one's life is in danger." The cheekiness is lost on Buffy, but her answer tells Dawn she's hopeful. "You're right," she says as they separate from each other, "demon-killing Slayer _signorina_ here." Dawn grins. Some things, on the other hand, are never going to change.

The flight is gruesome - the plane is absolutely cramped - but at least it doesn't take that long. Incomparable to their flight over the Atlantic. She doesn't even try to nap; her mind is trying to work out how this happened without anyone of them knowing. Her reflex reaction says: well, Giles only ever calls every other month, and how should we've been able to tell over the phone. But just a little deeper inside, she knows that had they only bothered to scrape the slightest bit under the very British and very loving surface, even from the other side of Europe, they would have sensed that something wasn't right. Now that she thinks back, maybe Willow noticed something, but she can't have known - Buffy knows she would have told her. The guilt is making it hard for her to breathe. Yes, maybe it's true that she could never have found out that something was wrong over the phone; but it's her fault that they've never visited him: Council work wouldn't have allowed him to just take off a few days. 'Well, now he _has_ to stay at home from work,' she thinks bitterly.

As she repeats the story she has been told on the phone, her inner eye accompanies with sad pictures: Giles, unhappy, bent over a desk, buried in books; Giles, lonely, sitting on his couch alone, nursing a glass; Giles, looking tormented, slipping into using magic for comfort, and letting it get out of control; Giles, rings under his eyes, reading letters from an old friend, the words not reaching him. She wipes away a tear, but it continues: Giles, staring at the phone, his hand not daring to touch it; Giles, tossing and turning in bed, eventually getting up to lie back down with a bottle; Giles, looking gaunt, getting high by means of incantation.  
Giles, crying.  
The last picture breaks the dam, and while she remains silent, the tears just flow. Giles, crying. Giles, trembling from different kinds of withdrawal, soaked in sweat. Giles, finger on a spot in the phone book, almost calling. Giles, receiving a notice of dismissal, stumbling up the staircase as he reads it. Giles, losing himself in alcohol, night after night, eventually not sobering up during daytime. Giles, sitting on the floor next to his bed, terrifyingly disheveled and unshaven, bottle in hand, staring at an assorted variety of pills.  
The sign above her head beeps, and she wipes away her tears before buckling the safety belt. Embarrassed, she looks to her right, but the old lady is still sleeping. 

Feeling a little more resolute, she half-runs down the corridor after having acquired her suitcase. She finds herself yelling for a taxi a little too loudly. In the back of her mind, she notes that people are driving on the "wrong" side. Well, there's so much more wrong right now than just that. On the way to the hospital, she calls the hotel, making sure she can check in late at night as well. She's lucky; the first nurse she finds on ward 3 points her to his doctor. The woman must have noticed she's on the verge of tears and with a sweet gesture, invites her to leave her luggage behind the registration desk.  
"We hoped you would be able to come, Miss Summers," the doctor says as he carefully shakes her trembling hand. "Dora called you," he tells her, casting a warm glance at the smiling nurse, "thank you for coming." She just nods, trying to hold back her tears that suddenly seem to be everywhere inside her. The man - what did he say his name was? Dr Beresford? - takes her by the arm and slowly, they start walking down the corridor.

"I assume you know he overdosed ... A neighbour called the police because he didn't open when she came for a parcel he had agreed to sign off for her. Lord knows how this lady knew something was off, but if she hadn't called, he wouldn't be alive now. He's been here for five days now; he only woke up yesterday." They stop in front of the last door on the left. "The alcohol withdrawal symptoms are his slightest problem." Buffy stares at the floor, blinking, trying to nod again. "A colleague of his was here yesterday, some shy guy with round glasses, telling us that you were the one person that came the closest to family." At that, she looks up, her voice almost a whisper, "He... he doesn't have anyone?" The doctor shakes his head. "No one, really. This fellow tells me his sister died a few years ago in some kind of explosion. And that Mr Giles lost his job. Tells me he hasn't made any good friends since he moved here. How do you know him again?"  
Buffy swallows.  
"You're right," she says in an incredibly sad voice, "family might be the right word." She doesn't receive any questions in return to that; after a heartbeat, she asks one herself.  
"Do you think he's going to be okay with seeing me?"  
The man suddenly looks at her very fondly.

"Dear girl," he starts, then feels compelled to correct himself a little, "Miss Summers - the patients we have here never come to us of their own free will. Each one of them has a sad story of how they ended up here, how they ended up doing what brought them here. The most prominent feelings connected to such an experience are shame, and anger. I can't promise you he's going to be happy to see you. But he _needs_ you nonetheless." He looks at her, his eyes very sad. "Please - if you can fit it into your timetable to stay for a few days, do. Hospital rules say we have to send him home after a week if he doesn't do anything that tells us he's going to put himself into danger. It's going to be easier for him with you here." She nods. The tears in her eyes are almost gone. "Believe me. What he needs is a friend. You know, something of a - a soulmate." With that, he turns around, his white coat waving, leaving her in front of a door that is as white as the wall.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy opens the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these are pretty short chapters, but that way, I hope to be able to update more regularly! :)

She stands there for minutes; both nurses and patients pass her by, curious looks on their faces, but her world is frozen. Then, after long moments of what might probably be very well called wordless, directionless praying, she sees her fingers turn the doorknob, just like in a fairy tale where a too-curious kid is about to find something either horrid or wonderful in an attic.  
Very slowly, she pushes the door open, pure fear glistening in her eyes. He seems to be sleeping, and that calms her down just the slightest bit, so that she dares to approach him. She sits down on a white chair next to his white bed in the all-white room. It's too bright, too cold. Too sterile and lifeless. She blinks at the bluish lights above them; they seem to judge her, blame her. She swallows and just sits, watching him lie atop a carefully ironed blanket, her eyes on his closed ones.

It feels as though an eternity were in passing. She's completely lost track of time; then, when dusk is falling, he finally opens his eyes, blinking in confusion, until he seems to catch up with a brutal reality. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to ward off the empty brightness coming from the ceiling, then sits up and freezes, one hand already at his glasses, as he catches sight of her. She smiles shyly, while her insides seem to burn to ashes, her heart pumping for dear life.  
His voice doesn't even sound like him.  
"Buffy."

It is meant as a question. She internally yells at herself to keep it together and pretend to be strong and alright. Very decidedly, she takes his hand, the one that is still resting on the blanket.  
"Hey Giles," she almost whispers. "It's been a while." She's trying. He pretends to smile, and he knows she can see right through it.  
A too long moment passes, then he asks, "How is Dawn?"  
She smiles, and this time, it's a confident smile.  
"She is amazing, Giles. My baby sister. She's working at the Museo Vaticano. Can you imagine she already has her doctorate? Last time I checked, she was fifteen."  
He doesn't have time to think about it and that allows him to smile genuinely. "Yes, I remember," he puts on his glasses, and Buffy discovers it relieves her enormously that it's still the same pair he has been wearing in Sunnydale, "little teenage Dawnie. I'm impressed." They exchange another brief smile, and Buffy feels her insides unclench a little. She quickly makes sure her hairdo is still looking civilized; it's not, but he must know she's had quite the trip.

Intimidated by the very slow pace of conversation, she looks at her fingers, not sure what to say. Eventually, he asks, "And how are you?"  
Suddenly, it comes to her that they haven't hugged, and it scares her.  
"I ... I'm okay, Giles, but ..."  
He's sure she's going to ask him about his condition, and he prays she won't. She's very shy; she looks so fragile, like a tiny bird that got lost, he thinks.  
"We haven't hugged, can I hug you?" She says it so quickly that she's wondering if he understood her; where her breath went, she doesn't know. All of a sudden, he's very much relieved at her words, even more than that. He suppresses a smile - but she knows that somewhere around his lips, there is one - and just opens his arms.  
She finds herself breathing again and happily accepts his invitation, hugging him tightly. How pale and weak he looks, she thinks, as they separate again. Afraid of annoying him, she tells him she really has to check in at the hotel, and that she's going to be back tomorrow. His disappointment is obvious, but he knows she's scared. And she's probably right to be scared. 

When she's almost at the door, he says very timidly, "I'm sorry you had to see me like this."  
She freezes, her hand on the doorknob, and for a moment, he expects her to just leave. But then he sees her fingers let go of the door, and sighs in relief so loudly that she must have noticed. Very slowly, she turns around to look at him. One step at a time, she walks back up to his bed. He can almost see her try and grasp all this; after an obvious moment of consideration, she sits down again, but it's only on the edge of the chair. She takes a deep breath and tucks away a strand of hair, as if to get ready for what she's about to say, even though she doesn't know which words are going to leave her lips.  
"Listen, Giles," she starts, and her voice is very calm; her eyes are piercing his, but there is more than sincerity to her stare. He is unable to define it.  
"I came here to stay with you. When the nurse called me, I took the next plane. But it's not a sacrifice. I've roughly been told what happened, don't worry about me. I'm a Slayer, remember? I've seen quite some stuff. I was also there for Eyghon, you know. I know you think you're at your worst, and maybe you are. But I don't care. I care about _you_." She's about to continue, but his sad voice interrupts her.

"This is different." She swallows, and his following words feel like being stabbed somewhere unexpected. "Don't stay out of pity." She drops her gaze, trying not to react too bluntly; she's an expert at overhasty reactions. She feels he's looking away.  
"I take you have plenty of things to tend to in Rome. Don't stay for me. I don't deserve it. Frankly, I shouldn't _be_ here at all. This ... this -- You shouldn't have come."

She feels like jumping at him, screaming at him, like bloody telling him he's so wrong, like reading the Riot Act to him, to be perfectly honest; instead, she just looks at him very intently until his eyes are back on her.  
"Maybe there are some things you don't know about me, Giles, or I don't know, maybe you've just forgotten. Honestly, I don't care. But you're scandalously wrong, and you're particularly wrong about me. I wouldn't have come here if it were for pity. I'm not doing this for me. And I'm not just doing it for you only, either. I think I'm doing it for us, but whatever, that's not what it's about. It's about you being sodding important to me. Oh, no, Mister-," she continues, almost working herself into a rage, but trying to remind herself of breathing, "- don't you dare contradict me. You know better."  
She huffs briefly, then stands up; he's so flabbergasted that only his eyes can follow her. 

"I'm fucking glad you're here," she closes a little inelegantly, "and you better be glad to see me, too." Admittedly, she's lost track of all the arguments she's tried to scrape together whilst walking up to him, but it doesn't matter. She's happy to have thrown the book at him a little. Maybe it's going to be enough of a distraction to him, at least for tonight. For a moment, she considers adding more to her little speech, but leaves it. Very matter-of-factly, she nods at him.  
"See you tomorrow, Giles. Good night."

Before he can regain control over himself, she's out the door, and the extremely modest dreamcatcher hanging on the door - the only decoration far and wide - is dangling after her. After a moment, he removes his glasses to put them onto his bedside table, still too surprised to even consider cleaning them. But as the nurse enters his room with a plain dinner for him on a tray, he's smiling. She said _sodding_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! There will be more ;)  
> Tell me what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also a short one, and I don't like it as much as I did the previous two, but I hope you still like it! :)

The hotel room isn't too nice, but it's alright. Thank God for time zones; that way, she can still call Willow in Ohio and ask for Wesley's phone number. A colleague from work with round glasses, that can only be Wyndham-Pryce, right?   
Feeling accomplished, Buffy hangs up - heavens, that's going to be a nice phone bill - and lets herself fall back down onto the bed, a post-it note with the number clutched in her left, falling asleep almost immediately. 

She wakes up shortly after dawn, and it's with a jerk, as if waking up from a nightmare. Weird, she thinks, her night was dreamless. Goddamn agitation - it's not even bright outside yet. Annoyed, she turns around in bed, only to feel an awkward rustling under her arm. Oh, the note. Well, after breakfast. She turns around once more and manages to doze for another two hours, at least.

Breakfast surprises her. Of course, English breakfast has a good reputation, but she wouldn't have expected it to be so good at this place. Such variety. And everybody seems to eat in the morning. Well, she can just as well give in to the group pressure ... It's been a while since she has eaten in the morning, and the first bite reminds her how nice that actually feels. Definitely worth repetition. 

Afterwards, she calls Wesley from the phone booth in the lobby. Oddly enough, he recognizes her by her voice right away. Poor Wesley, she can't help thinking, he's never done anything but his best, and yet - she's never been able to work up enthusiasm for him. Still, she's grateful that he thought of her. He tells her the same story the doctor told her, only with a little more detail. What he looked like when Wesley went to see him. How Giles never seemed to be comfortable around the people of the Council. (Secretly, she knows he never _really_ will. Too much history.) How they've been some sort of friends, but how there's always been a wall separating them, a wall that must be dating back to Sunnydale times. 

Wesley tells her how wonderful it is that she's here. To ask her how long she's staying, he doesn't dare. But that Rupert is going to need her, he's certain. She's always been more than just the Slayer to him, he knows that. And he's never met anyone more stubborn than Buffy. Well, except Faith, to be fair.

They agree on talking to each other more frequently. It comes as a small surprise to both of them, but even though it should be logical to some extent, they both realize the other cares for Giles in an equally genuine way. Granted, Wesley never got to be close friends with Giles, but Buffy, on the other hand, hasn't seen him in years. There's no plan, no strategy, but they promise each other they're determined to help. Buffy can't help rising an eyebrow at Wesley's upright pledge - he must have changed a lot since Sunnydale - but she can't deny she's glad to have _someone_ here. 

As she's heading up the stairs to her room - she's recently come to hate elevators, they're just too slow -, Buffy realizes that probably the whole lobby was trying to listen in on her conversation. Oh well. Her breakfast must have branded her as the weird Californian girl already, anyway.   
Leaning against her door from the inside, a little breathless - well, she did hurry for some reason -, she catches herself trying to work out what to wear to the _hospital_. Lord, girl, she tells herself, you sure care a lot about your appearance. Then again, she thinks, as she goes to discharge her bulky suitcase over the modest bed in one go, then again, she's not the dashing twenty-year-old anymore who could go out in a potato sack and look stunning. Furthermore, it's not about the hospital, she murmurs, it's about Giles. Following the same logic, she comes to the conclusion that after all these years, Giles deserves to see her looking good. Especially after rushing there yesterday looking that rumpled from the trip. 

Contrary to her expectations - well, maybe she still that sixteen-year-old Sunnydale schoolgirl inside - it takes her more than ten minutes to decide. Half an hour, to be honest. She feels herself blush as she remembers it's because she's going to see Giles. But, to hell with it. She's nearing thirty now, well, at least she's closer to thirty than she was when leaving Sunnydale, and that means she has to goddamn well pay attention to her appearance. And Giles shouldn't be left with the impression that she's changed and become a wallflower in the meantime.   
She settles for a plain black skirt and a blue silk blouse in the end. Elegant, but not dressed up. Right. And the hair ... what to do about the hair? Screw it, pigtails it is. A little playful (and childish? who knows), and still civilized. Civilized is good.

Her thoughts somewhere else, she accidentally takes the elevator downstairs, mentally cursing as it goes down excruciatingly slowly. That's when she realizes how nervous she actually is. Her fingers are trembling slightly as she rummages in her bag for a pocket mirror. Okay, the hair is still looking okay. As she crosses the lobby, she remembers Dawn. Damnit, she promised to call. Well, let's call now. Nervously, she dials and is greeted by the answering machine. Right, Dawnie is at work. She leaves a message. "Hey Dawnie, it's me. Sorry I didn't call yesterday... I was exhausted. Giles is awake. He, um... he looks like a ghost. We talked about you yesterday, he misses you. I'm on my way to the hospital now. I'm actually scared, can you imagine? Slayer and all. Anyways... Love you. Talk to you soon."  
Still trembling, she hangs up. Girl, you need to calm down, she tells herself as she's squeezing herself into a crowded bus. It's Giles. Your Watcher. Your friend. She exhales so loudly that an elderly lady shakes her head at her in disbelief, but Buffy just smiles back shyly. 

As she's walking to the hospital from the bus stop, she's feeling more and more confident by the minute. It feels a little like going to a fight. Well, not against Giles, in this case, but for Giles. God, I sound like a teenager, she laughs at herself. A man in a business suits turns round to look at her, and she feels flattered. Well, she _has_ changed. Even if too often now, she feels as if Dawn were the older sister now. She's grown up to be so reasonable, so down-to-earth, and so ... wise. Buffy can't deny admiring Dawn in many respects. She's never going to have the same composure, the same rationality; she's always going to be the chaotic, the impulsive, and also the more emotional one. 

Still - walking up the stairs to ward 3 - Buffy feels she's done quite a good job at growing up. Especially as far as surviving is concerned, but also in terms of, well ... becoming a responsible adult. A woman. She hopes Giles won't expect to see the slightly silly girl Buffy, no matter how mature and reasonable she had been at their last apocalypse. At the same time, she prays to the Powers That Be that he's still going to recognize in her the Buffy that used to be his friend before they drifted apart. 

Taking a deep breath, she rises her hand to knock at his door; a few feet away, nurse Donna is waving at her, smiling reassuringly. It feels right to be here; God, she's missed him so much. The nervosity from before is gone: Giles isn't stupid, he knows she's grown up, and he remembers the old times, and they've also had a few phone calls. What makes her tremble nevertheless is the feeling of guilt she's had the day before, the feeling that somehow, all this is partly her fault, the feeling that she's neglected him, the feeling that somehow, she could have prevented him from falling. A little discouraged, she knocks weakly, but the warm "Come in!" she receives in return - he must have been expecting her - tells her she's welcome and that at least for today, everything is going to be fine. Hand on the doorknob, she smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :)  
> To be continued soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!
> 
> To be continued soon :)


End file.
